All of which was fine except that it did nothing to alleviate his misgivings. But there was no help for that, so he was forced to put the matter aside as they journeyed home. They walked steadily all day, crossing through the Highlands, navigating the deep woods, scrub wilderness, flowering meadows, streams and small rivers, misty valleys and green hills. They left much more quickly than they had gone in, Quentin setting the pace, anxious to return home so that they could prepare to set out again.
Which was another sticking point with Bek. Walker had asked them to come with him on a journey and then promptly departed for regions unknown. He hadn’t waited for them to join him or offered to take them with him. He hadn’t even told them when they would see him again.
“I want you to return to Leah on the morrow,” he had advised just before they had rolled into their blankets and drifted off to an uneasy sleep. “Speak with your father. Satisfy yourselves that he has given you his permission to leave. Then pack your gear—not forgetting the sword, Quentin—saddle two strong horses, and ride east.”
East! East, for cat’s sake! Isn’t that the wrong direction? Bek had demanded instantly. Didn’t the Elves live west? Wasn’t that where their journey to follow the map was supposed to initiate?
But the Druid had only smiled and assured him that traveling east was what was needed before going on to Arborlon. They must carry out a small errand for him, an errand he had insufficient time to run. Maybe it would offer Quentin a chance to test the magic of his blade. Maybe Bek would be given an opportunity to test his intuitive abilities. Maybe they would have a chance to meet someone they would come to depend upon in the days ahead.
Well, there wasn’t much they could say to all that, so they had agreed to do as he asked. Just as Walker had known they would, Bek felt. He sensed, in fact, that Walker knew exactly how to present a request so that it would always be agreed to. When Walker spoke, Bek could feel himself agreeing almost before the words were out. Something in the Druid’s voice was compelling enough to make him want to acquiesce out of hand.
Magic’s sway, he supposed. Wasn’t that a part of the Druid history? Wasn’t that one reason why people were so afraid of them?
“This fellow we’re supposed to find,” he spoke up suddenly, halfway through the long walk home, glancing over at Quentin.
“Truls Rohk,” his cousin said.
Bek shifted the heavy pack on his back. “Truls Rohk. What kind of name is that? Who is he? Doesn’t it bother you that we don’t know the first thing about him, that Walker didn’t even tell us what he looks like?”
“He told us how to find him. He told us exactly where to go and how to get there. He gave us a message to deliver and words to speak. That’s all we need to get the job done, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know what we need because I don’t know what we’re getting ourselves into.” Bek shook his head doubtfully. “We jumped awfully quick at the chance to get involved in this business, Quentin. What do we know about Walker or the Druids or this map or any of it? Just enough to get excited about traipsing off to the other side of the world. How smart is that?”
Quentin shrugged. ‘The way I look at it, we have a wonderful opportunity to travel, to see something of the world, something beyond the borders of Leah. How often is that kind of chance going to come along? And Father agrees that we can go. Talk about miracles!”
Bek huffed. “Talk about blackmail—that’s more likely.”
“Not Father.” Quentin shook his head firmly. “He would die first. You know that.”
Bek nodded reluctantly.
“So let’s give this a chance before we start passing judgment.
Let’s see what things look like. If we think we’re in over our heads, we can always give it up.”
“Not if we’re flying somewhere out over the Blue Divide, we can’t.”